


In Sickness and in Health

by luceskywalker



Series: Assorted RPF [2]
Category: Australian Actor RPF, Lord of the Rings RPF, New Zealand Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, Def no homo, Flying overseas because your best mate is in a coma, Friendship, Hospitalization, I apologise for any medical errors because I am not a medical person of any kind, I've tried to imply that it's more than that but I think I've failed, Mark is technically Australian but he lives in NZ so he counts as a New Zealand actor, Other, and there isn't even a proper relationship tag for them what, except it's so homo, they make so much sense as a pairing but no one ships them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luceskywalker/pseuds/luceskywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hugo is hospitalised in Sydney after an accident on the set of The Matrix, and Mark flies straight over from New Zealand to see him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness and in Health

**Author's Note:**

> However, all dates and corresponding TV appearances are correct. Because I have no life and nothing better to do than know these things XD
> 
> This isn't based on real events, but it does fall kind of within the realm of conjecturally possible, although I am making some assumptions. If you know why, then you know, if you don't, read Hugo's imdb page.
> 
> I wrote this in high school, and I feel just as weird now posting it online as I did back then XD I'm always paranoid it will come up if they google search their names, which is why I put '‒‒‒‒‒' after the first letters of their last names. Although I to tag the pairings with surnames included so that's probably a useless exercise. XD
> 
> Hugo and Mark are real and so they obviously don't belong to me. I am in no way affiliated with them and no offence is intended.

"Taxi!" Mark F------- yelled, waving his hand in the pouring rain. "Taxi! Tax- oh." he sighed and dropped his arm in frustration when yet another yellow cab passed him by, already taken by someone else. That was the fifth one.

But then again, he _was_ trying to catch a taxi outside of Sydney's only international airport. On a Friday night. In the rain.

 _Typical_ , Mark thought. _People think it never rains in Australia, and the first time you come back in 20 years it's pissing down like a bloody fountain._

He passed his hands over his face and picked up his overnight bag, the only piece of luggage he brought with him, staking out a vantage point closer to the curb. He kept his eyes glued on the corner, waiting for the next taxi. At the first sign of yellow duco, Mark stuck his arm out, nearly falling into the gutter in his enthusiasm. The car pulled up in front of him and Mark yanked the door open, tossing his bag onto the seat as he climbed in.

"Prince of Wales Hospital," he told the driver, and pulled on his seatbelt.

"Righto mate," the driver replied. Mark leaned back in the seat and settled in to wait, heart still pounding in his ears after the apprehension of a five-hour flight that seemed to take four days. As the driver pulled into the Sydney traffic, Mark tipped his head back, allowing his eyes to slip closed as the adrenaline rush wore off and the exhaustion that always accompanied plane rides caught up with him. The drive from the airport to the hospital was not a short one, and Mark was torn between being glad for it and wanting to delay arrival as long as he could; afraid of what he'd find once he got there but wanting to get there as quick as possible, so that Hugo would not be alone.

"Bit rainy tonight," the driver - whose name was Pete Thomas, according to the authority on the dashboard - said as he merged onto the tollway.

Mark returned his head to a vertical position. "Sorry?"

"I said, 'Bit rainy tonight,'" Pete repeated with a smile.

"Oh. Yeah," Mark agreed, running a hand through his hair. He chuckled slightly. "Typical that it's raining the first time you come back in almost 20 years."

"Damn right!" the driver laughed. "Australian weather's got a mind of its own."

Mark nodded in agreement. Although, he thought, he didn't mind the rain so much. At least it wasn't a bright, clear night that tried to cheer him up with its brutal optimism.

"So, the last time you were here," Pete asked, regarding Mark in the rear-view mirror, "was it a holiday or are you a local?"

"No," Mark replied, then after a second, frowned and corrected himself. "At least, not anymore. I used to live here, and then I left."

"New Zealand?" Pete asked. Mark nodded. "I thought so," said the driver. "You've got a bit of an accent; I can hear it in your vowels. When did you leave?"

Mark laughed without much humour. "1987."

The driver's eyes widened. "That's a long time. What made you come back? That is, if you don't mind my asking."

Mark sighed. "My mate's in hospital. He came to see me in Zid a few months ago, and then had to come back for work, and had a- well, you could call it an accident, I suppose."

"He all right?"

Mark shrugged. "He's in a coma; I don't know much else. I was out with some friends when I got a call from one of his co-workers, and flew in as soon as I could." Saying he knew nothing else was a bit of a stretch, but he did not exactly feel comfortable revealing Hugo's entire medical history to a complete stranger. Thankfully, the driver did not press him further on the subject.

"Well, I hope he's alright."

"Thanks."

"You know, you look a bit familiar," the driver said, glancing back at him. "Were you ever on TV or something?"

Mark nodded and turned to look out of the window into the pouring rain. "Yeah. _Sons and Daughters_ , way back in the day."

"I tell you, my wife loved that show. She used to sit me down and make me watch it with her every night," Pete said, laughing. He looked in the rear-view mirror again and frowned slightly. "But that's not where I know you from. You've been in something else, as well."

Mark nodded but said nothing. He was sure he knew what was coming next.

"You were in _Xena_ , weren't you?" And there it was. Pete's eyes were wide and Mark could not help but smile.

"Yeah, I did a few episodes."

"I'll be damned. Practically an A-list taxi, this one," said Pete. "You know, I had someone else in my taxi that was on TV."

"Really?" Mark asked, interested to know who it was.

"Yeah. Would have been back in..." he paused to think. "'Bout '88, I think. Yeah, seems about right. He'd just come back from New Zealand, too. Said he went there to see a mate of his and discovered that his mate was getting married and he hadn't had any idea. He was a nice bloke. I drove him home from the airport and two weeks later saw him on that show _The Dirtwater Dynasty_. He's been in quite a few well-known things since then, but for the life of me I can't remember his name."

Mark listened in silence as the pieces started to fall into place. _The Dirtwater Dynasty_. 1988. That was the year he got married! He had no idea that Hugo had come to see him. Idly he wondered what he had been doing at the time, to have missed the visit. Probably at the caterer's or something listening to his soon-to-be (now ex-) wife get pedantic about the exact positioning of the icing flowers on the cake. Mark was not aware that he had not told Hugo that he was getting married. He remembered meaning to, but that intent was evidently washed away in the tidal wave of things to do that, in the bride's opinion, were more urgent.

"I think I might know who his mate was," Mark said. "Did he say much about him?"

"Nah, mate. He seemed real cut up about it, didn't talk much at all, really."

"Hmmm." Mark's shoulders drooped slightly and he leaned back into the seat. Wow. Why had Hugo gone to New Zealand? Why had he not told Mark? The other man had sent a card, but Mark had not known he was actually in the country at the time. Mark wondered if his mother knew anything about it: she had been staying with him and had not ventured out on any wedding-preparation expeditions, so if Hugo had gone to the house then she would have been there. Which reminded him, he needed to call her and tell her he was in town.

"Excuse me a minute," he said to Pete. "I just need to ring my mum."

"Sure, no worries."

Mark pulled his phone out of his pocket, took it off of airplane mode and speed-dialled his mother's landline.

"Hello?" 

Mark sighed in relief. Never had he been so glad to hear his mum's voice. "Hi, Mum."

"Mark! Oh, I haven't heard from you in ages, and I was getting worried. How are you? How are my grandsons? Why haven't you called me? When are you coming to Australia?" her words ran in an endless, almost indistinguishable stream of excitement. He felt bad for not calling her more often; it seemed mean of him to only call her when there was an emergency.

"I'm actually in Australia right now."

"Oh! That's the best news I've heard all day! Are you coming over? Have you eaten? I'll make you some dinner. What would you like?"

"Nothing. Mum, listen..."

"Nothing! But you must be hungry after the flight! Never mind, I'll whip something up anyway. You just come over here and it will be waiting for you."

"Mum..."

He sighed as she kept talking, half to him, half to herself. Raising his voice over his mother's soliloquy, Mark said bluntly, "Mum, Hugo's in a coma."

There was silence on the other end as his mother processed this information. Mark and Hugo had been best friends in high school and at university and they had spent so much time together that Mark's mother now regarded Hugo as her own son.

"...What?" for once, his mother's voice was no more than a horrified whisper. Mark sighed and repeated himself.

"Hugo's in a coma. I'm heading straight to the hospital now, but I promise I'll come and see you in a couple of days. I was actually wondering if it would be alright if I stayed with you while I'm here."

"Silly boy, as if it wouldn't be alright! If you didn't ask I would tell you to stay here anyway. I'll make up your bed and take care of everything. You just make sure he's alright, you hear? And let me know how he's doing."

"I will."

"Okay. See you soon."

"Bye."

Mark hung up and smiled apologetically at Pete. "Sorry."

"Nah mate, don't worry about it. We all have to ring our mothers."

Mark nodded gratefully and yawned. Pete glanced in the rear-view mirror and took in Mark's tired posture and the way he was staring blankly out of the window. "You look pretty tired. If you go to sleep, I'll wake you up when we get there. I promise I won't do an extra lap and overcharge you."

"Thanks, mate," Mark said with a small laugh. He let his head fall back against the headrest and closed his eyes, even though his mind felt like it was too awake and on edge to sleep. He opened his eyes after what seemed like a second to him, and was surprised to find the hospital looming in front of him as the taxi turned a corner. He sat up properly and rubbed his eyes, groping in his pocket for his wallet.

"Here you go, mate. I didn't even have to wake you up," the driver smiled.

Mark smiled and ran a hand through his mussed hair. He paid the driver and told him to keep the change, then dragged himself out of the cab and walked quickly towards the hospital, already knowing the location of Intensive Care. He had been there too many times to count.

Mark rode the lift up to the necessary floor, and the doors slid open on to the ward. His heart pounded in his ears as he walked towards the nurses' station, and it seemed so loud to him that he half expected the receptionist to chastise him for waking the patients. As it was, she barely even looked up as he approached.

"Hey, I'm here to see Hugo W------," Mark said.

The receptionist looked up at him and opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment an Indian doctor emerged through a door behind the nurse's station. She took in the scene and looked at Mark. "Mark F-------?"

He nodded. The doctor held out her hand. "I'm Dr. Patel. Come right this way." She directed Mark to the only closed door in that part of the ward. "He's in here. He's not awake but he'll probably be able to hear you."

Mark thanked her and opened the door; his heart falling as he stepped inside and saw Hugo. Dr Patel closed the door behind him, giving him some privacy. Mark advanced towards the bed and sat down on the chair to Hugo's right, dropping his bag on the floor. Mark did not even know the names of all the machines Hugo was hooked up to. The heart monitor beeped slowly, and the hiss of a life-support machine punctuated the silence every few seconds, small comforts proving that Hugo was alive, if not completely under his own power. The other man was barely visible behind the tube that had been inserted into his mouth, and all the other tubes that were connected various parts of his body. Mark thought he looked more like a science experiment or something out of a science fiction movie than a patient in a hospital.

"Welcome to the Matrix," Mark whispered. Carefully, he gathered one of Hugo's hands in his, holding it as if it would break off if he squeezed too hard. "Come on mate, you can't give up on me yet. And you can't give up on anyone else either. They need you. I need you."

Predictably, his words garnered no response from the unconscious man. Mark realised that his eyes were falling closed and, with nothing better to do, he rested his head on the mattress and finally succumbed to sleep.

~~~~~~

The days had started to blend into each other. For 10 days there had been no change in Hugo's condition, and Mark was really starting to get scared, even though he would never admit it. He had known Hugo since they were sixteen, and he had trouble accepting the fact that it was a very real possibility that his best friend would not make it. Mark rubbed his face with his hands when he felt the pinpricks of tears on the back of his eyeballs. It could not end like this, not now. Not after everything they had been through.

Mark chuckled ruefully to himself. He never would have guessed that at 40 he would still be sitting in a hospital room watching over Hugo, like he had at 17. At least back then he had been awake for most of the time Mark was there. Seeing him talking, smiling, laughing, had made it that much easier to believe everything was as fine as he said it was. Seeing Hugo awake every time and being able to talk to him and had given Mark hope; hope that, this time, was denied to him. All he had now to prove that his best friend was alive was a steady, mechanic beep and the sound of a machine inhaling.

No movement, no sound, no change at all.

And Mark could only think the worst.

~~~~~~

_Two weeks later_

Consciousness returned slowly, and clear vision even slower. He had woken up to a blurry white ceiling surrounded by hazy grey edges, with an annoying beeping sound right by his left ear and something that prevented him from breathing easily. He tried to inhale and ended up coughing and gagging as the plastic tube inhibited the natural movements of his airway. Coughing only made it worse and his heart rate increased as he started to panic, bringing a hand up to his mouth and trying to remove the tube.

"Whoa, easy." His hand was moved out of the way and a pair of smaller hands quickly worked to free him from this contraption and the tube was taken out. Hugo inhaled deeply, glad to have the ability back, but still ended up coughing. It was as if his lungs had forgotten what to do.

"Just hold on, I'll get you a mask."

Hugo nodded slightly and breathed shallowly through his nose, which proved less difficult. He blinked to clear his vision and the bland decor of a hospital room came in focus around him. He instinctively knew that a considerable amount of time had elapsed since he lost consciousness, but he did not know how long. He turned to look at the bedside table and saw a copy of _Angels and Demons_ sitting there; he remembered that Mark had been reading that, and for a minute he wondered if Mark had come all the way to Sydney to see him. Hugo hoped that he had, but considering what had been said before he left Wellington, that was unlikely. The thought saddened Hugo and he turned away, in time to see the nurse returning with an oxygen mask.

"Here we go. Can you lift your head?"

He lifted his head up as much as he could, and she slipped the mask over his face. Breathing easily once more, he nodded his thanks. He took a few breaths and lifted the mask away so that he could speak.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, his voice raspy from disuse.

"Just over three weeks," she replied with a smile. "Best not to talk too much," she admonished gently as she unplugged the life-support machine from the wall and wheeled it over near the door. She smiled back at him. "You won't be needing that any longer."

Hugo watched her as she returned to his bedside. "Whose book is that?" he gestured in the general direction of the bedside table, and then looked at her nametag so he knew what to call her. When he saw the name he smiled. "You have the same name as my sister."

"I know," Anna smiled. She fluffed his pillows. "The book belongs to your friend Mark."

Hugo's heart skipped a beat, and for a second the beep of the heart monitor lost rhythm. He stared at Anna, almost afraid to believe it.

"He flew straight over from New Zealand the day that you were admitted, and has barely left your side the entire time. I sent him home last night so he could have a proper shower and some real food." She checked her watch. "It's six-thirty in the morning, so he'll be in in a few hours."

Hugo smiled and nodded, looking back at the book as a warm feeling spread through him. Mark was here. Mark was...his eyelids got heavy and he blinked blearily a few times.

"That's it, go back to sleep."

He did not need to be told twice, and was asleep as soon as he shut his eyes.

~~~~~~

There was something different in the room when Mark returned. Mark realised that he could no longer hear the whoosh of the life support and the machine was gone, which made the room seemed less confined. As he sat down he saw that the breathing tube had been removed and replaced by a simple oxygen mask, and he wondered if these changes were a good sign. He hoped they were.

He pulled the sleeves of his red tshirt up to his elbows and leant forward to take hold of one of Hugo's hands, being careful of the drip. He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and ran his free hand over his face. Putting his chin in his hand, he watched the undulation of Hugo's chest for a few moments, and then turned to look out of the window at the city beyond. A few minutes later he felt a slight pressure on his right hand. 

Mark looked down at their entwined hands, and then his eyes shot up to look at Hugo's face and he saw a pair of tired but blissfully alert blue eyes looking back at him. A titanic wave of relief swept over Mark, eradicating all of the worry from the last three weeks and leaving him unable to do much else but put his head down and sob from the sheer force of it.

Hugo frowned when Mark let go of his hand, folded his arms on the mattress and put his head down, and he became worried when the other man's shoulders started to shake. He reached out and touched Mark's shoulder. When the other man looked up a few moments later, Hugo brought a hand up to his face and grasped the oxygen mask, taking a few deep breaths before pulling it off his face. 

"Why are you crying?" he whispered.

"Because you're alive," Mark replied, chuckling ruefully. He wiped the tears away and stood up, moving closer to the bed and smoothing Hugo's hair away from his forehead. "I was so worried; another week and they said you wouldn't wake up. How long have you been conscious?"

"A few hours. The nurse said I shouldn't talk much."

"Oh yeah," Mark realised belatedly. "Sorry."

Hugo weakly waved it off. "How did you find out?"

"Keanu rang me. He rode in the ambulance with you, and called me as soon as he arrived. He said that you had told him that your family was overseas, and thought that I'd be able to get here quickest. He also needed to know how long it had been since this happened last." Mark waited for Hugo to absorb this before he continued, "I booked a flight as soon as I heard. I was with Miranda at the time and she called Cate, who called your family."

Hugo nodded as he took in this information. He tried to swallow and pulled a face when he discovered that his throat was like sandpaper. "Can you pass me that water, there?" he asked, indicated the jug on the bedside table. Mark nodded and poured him a cup, helping Hugo to raise himself enough to drink without spilling it all. Hugo nodded his thanks and Mark put the cup down and fluffed Hugo's pillows for him.

Hugo reached up and wrapped his fingers around Mark's wrist. "I'm really sorry about what I said, before I...left..." he lost his breath at the end of the apology and had to put the oxygen mask back on. Mark smiled and shook his head.

"I didn't really mean what I said, either. But it doesn't matter now: you're okay, and that's what's important."

"You flew all the way from New Zealand, just for me?" Hugo asked as he took the mask off again. "Why?"

"Because," Mark replied, sitting down again and pulling the chair closer to the bed. He wrapped his fingers around Hugo's hand once again. "I know you hate to be alone in hospital, and considering that your entire family happens to be out of the country, I was the only viable candidate."

There was another reason there, something that Mark was thinking but not saying. Hugo raised an eyebrow and pointed out, "You were out of the country too."

"Yes, but New Zealand is closer than England or France."

Hugo conceded the point. "I'm glad that you came."

"I would even have flown in from the North Pole if I knew you needed me," Mark declared.

Hugo smiled tiredly, knowing it was true and feeling especially thankful for it. He knew he could always count on Mark.

"Don't leave," he breathed as sleep threatened to claim him again.

"I won't, mate," Mark promised. "I'll be here for as long as you need me."

Hugo nodded and fell back into unconsciousness. Mark kept a hold of Hugo's hand and squeezed it, closing his eyes and sending a prayer of thanks to whoever was up there listening. Hugo was awake, and Mark knew everything would be alright now.

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a point of interest, Hugo and Mark have been friends since the age of 16, and they did go to NIDA at the same time, and Hugo's sister is called Anna but I swear I'm not a stalker. I just read the biography on Mark's website and Hugo's IMDB page.


End file.
